


What They Say About Assuming

by Owaya1



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: End Goal, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Happy Birthday Iwaizumi Hajime, He's turning 25 so I wrote this thing, Iwa-chan's 25th Birthday, M/M, Pro Volleyball Player Iwaizumi Hajime, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 17:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14898977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owaya1/pseuds/Owaya1
Summary: “Iwa-chan, did you just break up with your girlfriend over me?”





	What They Say About Assuming

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo. I managed to finish this just in time.  
> A quick drabble written for Iwa-chan's 25th birthday. It is sort of rough and unbetaed, but hopefully still readable. Enjoy.

 

* * *

 

 

 

       Oikawa sits on Iwaizumi’s awful, lumpy couch. He holds his head in his hands and his elbows dig into his thighs as he bends in on himself. Behind a closed door, voices rise and fall, muffled but loud enough for most words and sentences to be discernable.

       “You can’t let him stay here!” a feminine voice is saying, her tone rising in pitch. “He’s got his own apartment, you can’t let him take advantage like this.”

       There is an answering placating rumble. Male. Iwaizumi’s voice fits familiarly into the cavern of Oikawa’s stomach, the same way it has since puberty. There’s something hopelessly attractive about a male baritone, Oikawa has always thought.

       “I don’t care!” the female voice snaps, then continues, less shrill, “I’m not trying to be an insensitive asshole, but this isn’t healthy Hajime.”

       The casual use of Iwaizumi’s given name makes Oikawa twitch, like there are fishhooks embedded in his skin and someone is tugging the lines. It is a privilege Oikawa hasn’t had since they started high school. His knee throbs, displacing pain all the way up his spine, and igniting a pounding headache.

       “He needs me right now.” Iwaizumi’s voice cuts through, hard and final. “Don’t ask me to ignore that.”

       “He always needs you! And you enable him! He’s a grown man, you can’t always be responsible for him.” The words snap, high and angry. They would cut, Oikawa thinks, if it weren’t for the underlying desperation in them. Iwaizumi is never going to choose her over Oikawa, and she’s realizing as much, — has probably known for a while but couldn’t make herself believe it.

       “Get out.” Iwaizumi’s voice is quiet, but Oikawa picks up on it, just barely. There is steel in that voice, cold and hard. The bedroom door bursts open and a girl darts out, pausing only to collect her bag and a pair of shoes.

       “Leaving already?” Oikawa lilts, straightening in his seat. His smile contains just a few too many teeth to be polite.

       She’s probably a nice girl, Oikawa thinks, looking at her dimpled cheeks, her lean frame, her tomboy outfit. She looks like someone who would spend a day on the volleyball court just for fun, — someone active and high-energy who likes morning runs and hiking. She looks like someone Iwaizumi could fall in love with, is the thing, and Oikawa isn’t having that.

       “You do this on purpose,” she accuses in a whisper, angry tears in her eyes, bag slung over her shoulder. She slams the front door behind her as she leaves.

       Oikawa slumps forward again, and closes his eyes. Minutes pass before he feels the weight of Iwaizumi settle down onto the couch beside him, a thigh pressing against his own as an arm snakes around his shoulders, pulling him sideway. Oikawa exhales and lets himself be tugged into an embrace.

       The thing is, he has done something like this before. Broken up Iwaizumi’s relationships out of jealousy, or spite, or simply because he could. The irony is that, _this time_ he hadn’t meant to. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t.

       “Iwa-chan, did you just break up with your girlfriend over me?” Oikawa mumbles into the smooth skin of Iwaizumi’s neck. Iwaizumi must have shaved recently for it to be so silky. He thinks of running his tongue over that skin, of gently biting at the firm jaw. He settles for just looking, his eyes half-lidded and mouth watering.

       “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Iwaizumi rumbles back, echoing Oikawa’s thoughts. He doesn’t sound particularly angry or upset, just tired. Oikawa is tired too.

       “It’s your own fault,” Oikawa reminds him, “Would you want to date someone who is never going to prioritize you, over their best friend?”

       It has been a while since they last had this conversation. Three years give or take; in the wake of Iwaizumi’s second big break up. One Oikawa had orchestrated, his conductor’s baton skilfully weaving insecurities and distrust into the fabric of Iwaizumi’s relationship.

       Iwaizumi had been so angry, — they had had their first big fight in years, and Oikawa had been too afraid to point out how much Iwaizumi enabled him. How much Iwaizumi let him get away with all the shit he did; that they were both complicit in this mess. Oikawa had been terrified, — convinced that once Iwaizumi _realized_ , then things would change, that concepts like emotional distance and physical space would be introduced to an equation that had always equalled _them._

       Nothing much had changed though. Probably wouldn’t ever. Oikawa could see this now, — with years of pushing and testing and stepping over boundaries behind him, he had finally settled into a simple truth: that Iwaizumi needed him, too, and that neither of them cared to tip that equilibrium.

       “I think I would like someone like that,” Iwaizumi answers belatedly, leaning backwards into the couch’s overly soft cushions. Oikawa shuffles with him, refusing to yield space “At least they would understand, you know? It’d be easier.”

       “Easier to just date someone who adores me,” Oikawa whines, a smile on his lips, “I’m sure if you tried looking, someone like that wouldn’t be hard to find. I’m adorable after all.”

       “The only person on that list is your mom,” Iwaizumi snarks back, “Besides, when was the last time you even dated someone for real? Freshman year? What was her name again?”

       “Ugh, Iwa-chan, don’t remind me.”

       “She was such a douchebag,” Iwaizumi says, nostalgic. He hadn’t been nearly so easy-going about it at the time. “Do you remember that fight we had, after you broke me and Aiko up?” Iwaizumi asks, thoughtful. It seems his thoughts are only a step behind Oikawa’s today.

       “Who?” Oikawa asks just to be contrary. He vaguely remembers standing in an anime merchandise store scribbling that name into a replica Death Note. It hadn’t been his finest moment.

       Iwaizumi cuffs him over the head.

       “Don’t be a shit,” he says, but fondly. Iwaizumi has mellowed a lot these past few years. He gets less embarrassed when Oikawa needles him, — is more comfortable in his own skin. “We had that huge fight. I almost thought it would be the end of us.”

       “You’re such a drama queen, Iwa-chan” Oikawa murmurs. It’s not a memory he likes to dwell on for too long.

       “You said,” Iwaizumi pauses, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. His lips move, soundlessly, as if testing the words for flaws. “You said I had to make up my mind about how much I wanted to give, because people would keep taking if I let them.”

       Oikawa hums his agreement, closing his eyes. He remembers saying those words, —remembers catching himself, just before they left his lips, and replacing _I_ with _people_. Both are true, yet also worlds apart in meaning.

       “I didn’t really get it at first, but now I think you were right.”

       “I’m always right,” Oikawa protests, which earns him a derisive snort.

       “I used to worry about being good enough, you know? A good volleyball player, a good friend, a good boyfriend, a good son, a good student, a reliable vice captain.” Iwaizumi exhales in a gust, and shakes his head. “But there’s no way anyone can be all of that all the time, so I’ve stopped trying so hard. Maybe that makes me a bad person.”

       Oikawa shrugs. “It’s because you’re so hung up on being _nice_ Iwa-chan.”

       “As opposed to you, who’ll never stop being a brat,” Iwaizumi mutters, and runs a hand through Oikawa’s hair, pulling gently at the strands.

       “My selfishness has gotten us pretty far though,” Oikawa reminds him smugly, “Gold at worlds. We’ll take a medal at the Olympics too, if I have my way.”

       “It’s always going to be volleyball first, isn’t it?” Iwaizumi says smiling, and then sighs, tilting his head back once more to avoid Oikawa’s searching eyes. There is something in his voice Oikawa can’t quite place, beneath the fond resignation there is a counter current of what Oikawa might have named impatience if he didn’t know any better.

       “It’s how we become the best,” Oikawa says, frowning. He isn’t sure where Iwaizumi is going with this. Doesn’t like how Iwaizumi’s fingers stop running through his hair.

       “Other people manage to have more. Even athletes.”

       Oikawa stares into Iwaizumi’s neck. He doesn’t want to know what might be moving in Iwaizumi’s eyes anymore. Doesn’t care to know. “You don’t seem very upset about this last girl,” Oikawa points out. He feels defensive, like he has been backed out to the edge of a chasm he hadn’t known was there. “That’s hardy my fault.”

       Iwaizumi snorts. “It’s kind of your fault.” There is a hint of a smile in his voice. Oikawa doesn’t quite trust it. “Between you and professional volleyball, I hardly know how to find space for anything more.”

       Oikawa doesn’t know what to say to that. Iwaizumi is preaching to the choir right now, as far as Oikawa is concerned. The only difference is that, well, Oikawa doesn’t really have a problem with the status quo. Oikawa has volleyball and everything that comes with it, — the media and the sponsors, the diet plans and the endless hours of training, the team and his captaincy — and he has Iwaizumi and almost 25 years of solid friendship. Oikawa doesn’t want distractions from those things, — in fact he goes to great lengths to dispose of them.

       “I’m turning 25 tomorrow,” Iwaizumi reminds him, which makes Oikawa grimace. Oikawa had been hoping Iwaizumi would forget the date like he usually does. It makes planning a surprise party easier. “At this rate I’m going to die single.”

       “And alone. No way are you going before me.”

       “So much for levity,“ Iwaizumi mutters.

       “This was a serious conversation?” Oikawa knows he’s deflecting, but he can’t quite make himself stop. He watches Iwaizumi’s adam’s apple bob once.

       “What I was _trying_ to say,” Iwaizumi begins, and Oikawa swears he feels the universe unravel itself in the space between those words and Iwaizumi’s next. “I was _wondering_ what the hell it is we’re waiting for, at this point.”

       Oikawa’s breath hitches, and he pulls abruptly out of Iwaizumi’s grasp. He barely feels it when his knee protests at the abrupt motion, — he is too caught up in the feeling of endless variable universes branching out from this moment.

       “We have volleyball and we have each other,” Iwaizumi forges on, keeping his gaze on Oikawa. The steel is back in Iwaizumi’s eyes, — in his voice, and gaining momentum. He reaches out a hand and snags Oikawa’s wrist. “I don’t need anything else. I don’t particularly _want_ anyone else. I don’t even know what we’re waiting for.” The universe reknits itself.

       Settles.

 

 

       “Tooru, I just want you.”

 

 

       “You what?” Oikawa flounders, blinking rapidly. This new reality doesn’t seem to be entirely backwards compatible. “We’ve been waiting?”

       “Yes?” Iwaizumi says. “What?”

       They stare blankly at each other.

       “Shit. You’re serious,” Iwaizumi looks torn between horror and disbelief, “All this time I thought you knew, I knew.”

       “You _knew_?” Oikawa squeaks. “How long have you _known_?”

       “Three years?” Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa, wide-eyed. “Were you trying to hide it?” The bewilderment in his voice is mildly insulting. “You broke up my girlfriend and I, and you thought I wouldn’t realize you were in love with me?”

       “I don’t know, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa exclaims, throwing his hands into the air. “You never _asked me about it!”_

       “I thought it was one of your plans,” Iwaizumi protests. “You’ve never _not_ gone after something you wanted. I figured you had a game plan.”

       “You figured I had a game plan,” Oikawa repeats, dazed, his brain still not quite computing. “Iwa-chan, are you an idiot? Life isn’t a volleyball match.”

       Iwaizumi groans and buries his face in his hands.

       “Wait,” Oikawa says, because there is something he is sure he missed in all of this. “Did you just say you wanted me?”

       “Yes.” The word is slightly muffled, but Oikawa catches it, and it lodges in his brain like a stick between gears. Silence drags out between them while Oikawa tries to restart his brain.

       “Is this a second-best choice thing?” Oikawa blurts out, because suspicion has always come easier to him than trust. “None of your relationships work out, so you decide to date your best friend who’s been in love with you since forever?”

       Iwaizumi groans.

       Oikawa knows his best friend well enough to interpret that as a solid negative.

       “Excuse me for asking,” Oikawa sniffs, “You date a _lot_ of people, Iwa-chan. How was I supposed to know?”

       “You always know,” Iwaizumi protests, but it’s weak. Oikawa is never going to let him live this down and he knows it.

       “Three years, Iwa-chan. What is wrong with you?” A grin is tugging at Oikawa’s lips, and he feels a laugh building in his chest, bubbling up. It manifests as an embarrassing giggle. “You are such an idiot.” Oikawa reaches out and leans in, — tugs at Iwaizumi hands until they drop away and Oikawa can see his eyes.

       Iwaizumi manages a sheepish smile.

       “Just to be clear,” Oikawa says, because all the secrets are on the table now, and Oikawa is pretty sure he’ll never fear anything ever again. “I’m going to kiss you now, and then we’re going to have sex on this awful couch so I’ll have an excuse to replace it with mine. Also, you should know if we do this, then I’m not ever sharing you with anyone ever again. Oh and I’m calling you Hajime, from now on, because—”

       “Oh, shut up” Hajime grabs Oikawa’s collar and pulls him forward into a devastating kiss.

       Oikawa surges into it with the desperation of a man who has been waiting a decade and a half for this exact moment. He paws at Hajime’s shoulders, runs his fingers through dark, messy hair, and generally just gets so lost in it that he unwittingly manages to press his injured knee down into the couch and lean his weight on it.

       Later, he will deny screaming.

       “I can’t believe you managed to bruise your good knee this bad,” Hajime complains, once all the panic and running around searching for painkillers and ice packs has ceased. “Your _good_ knee.”

       Oikawa lies spread eagle on the floor with several ice packs strapped to his leg as he waits for the painkillers to kick in. Somehow though, he can’t quite manage to feel entirely sorry for himself. “I can’t believe you knew we were in love with each other for three years and never said anything,” Oikawa counters, and grins stupidly as Hajime chucks a pillow at his face.

 

 

[Fin]


End file.
